Wherever The Cold Wind Blows
by SimpleTechnicality
Summary: From the ashes of the third era an unlikely band of misfits and mercenaries will rise to stake their claim in a changing world.
1. Wherever the Cold Wind Blows

**Wherever the Cold Wind Blows**

It had gone on for too long. Alves Uvenim had for weeks been discreetly meeting with all manners of intrepid sellswords passing through Leyawiin, desperately trying to get someone to accept her job. They all seemed interested at first, no doubt allured by the prospect of doing some under the table work for a shady dark elf sorceress. Cyrodiilics seemed to believe such scenarios ended with fantastical rewards of magical boons and torrid one night stands with their employers. Such a strange people.

But sure enough the moment she uttered the word "Daedra" a wall would drop down between her whomever she was trying to recruit. In Morrowind that would be a draw, an indication of great rewards indeed. But these imperials were skittish regarding all things Daedric, especially since the destruction of Kvatch.

Ridiculous rumors were flying about too; the impossible stories of large, stable portals to Oblivion popping up in the wilderness had even the Fighters Guild wary of venturing into the swamps, not that she could have gone to them anyway. People were on edge enough as it is, and Alves shuddered to think what would happen if she approached a law-abiding agency like the Fighters Guild in regards to breaking a curse put on Rosentia when she bought a Daedric staff from some vagabond mercenary. They'd immediately report to the count the situation, and after that it'd only be a matter of time before the poor girl ended up in the dungeons. Or, worse yet, the victim of a mob of cats and lizards incensed by stories of the wealthy imperial girl trafficking with Daedra.

She'd even sunk to considering approaching the Blackwood Company. They were known for their willingness to accept absolutely any kind of job, and all her contacts spoke highly of them, but in the end common sense won out over desperation. That gang of Beastfolk would be more likely to steal the artifact for themselves, or blackmail Rosentia and Alves into poverty or worse.

Eventually, she had no choice. Rosentia was beginning to crack under the pressure, and Alves simply could not wait any longer. She would handle the matter herself.

* * *

In had taken time for Alves to adjust when she first arrived in Cyrodiil. The people were all so strange compared to what she'd been used to in Morrowind. It was like being in one of the big imperial mining towns, only without the miners and twice the imperials, all fat and happy and safe behind the massive walls that ringed every city.

It had been a little off putting, honestly. Even in Cheydinhal, a city populated largely by fellow Dunmer, she felt like the outsider. Most all her colleagues and acquaintances in the city had been the sons and daughters of immigrants from mainland Morrowind, raised so thoroughly in the tradition of the imperial heartland that the ways of their parents were long since forgotten. Outlanders in every sense of the word.

Or at least they would have been Outlanders had she still been in Vvardenfell. Here, in this foreign land far from the great island, she was the Outlander. They'd treated her as a curiosity at first, a transfer from some far away provincial backwater chapter of the mages guild who thought it appropriate to attend guild meetings armed and armored.

She'd adapted though, as she always did, and slowly but surely adopted the customs and mannerisms of the imperial province, wearing them like clothing. An Outlander among Outlanders was just another face in the street.

She never felt at home though, not until she'd been transferred again, this time to the far southern city of Leyawiin. Here she found that same unease, that same suggestion that at any moment something are someone might creep out of the shadows behind your that had pervaded her early years living along the Bitter Coast. Even the abundance of cats and lizards couldn't deter her. They'd been prevalent even along the coast back home, especially since the death of the Tribunal and the outlawing of slavery. It had only added to her sense of familiarity.

She'd noticed Rosentia Gallenus almost immediately. Unlike Alves herself, who by now was thoroughly acclimatized to the mannerisms and accents of the imperial province, Rosentia stuck out like a sore thumb. She was a wealthy, well-bred imperial lady living in a city filled primarily with cats, lizards and elves, many of them immigrants from Black Marsh and Elsewyr. To Alves great surprise however the little imperial woman seemed to revel in her difference, making no attempts to fit it with her acquaintances.

She'd been drinking in some cat Inn when she first saw her. A lovely imperial wearing a fine black and burgundy dress playing cards of all things with a group of lizardmen laborers, laughing and cursing and seemingly right at home among her unusual company. It had been intriguing.

Curiosity, as it is wont to do, got the better of Alves, who soon found herself joining on the weekend card games. It wasn't long before she found herself in Rosentia's rather spacious home, continuing games left off in the inn and, after a few days of that, playing a different kind of game in her bedroom.

She could honestly say she'd never met anyone quite like Rosentia. The girl was too soft and sweet to last long on the Bitter Coast of Vvardenfell, but too unstable and capricious to live in a proper imperial city without trouble. She was like a glass-child, dancing merrily atop a tall thin wall, forever in danger of making a single misstep and tumbling down, shattering herself into a million pieces. Leyawiin, it would seem, suited the both of them quite well.

Until some damnable sellsword fooled her sweet, gullible Rosentia into buying a cursed staff. When Alves dropped by her house later on that evening and saw four large scamps surrounding Rosentia she'd panicked, loosing lightning at all four and charring a good half of Rosentia sitting room furniture.

To her horror the scamps merely reappeared out of thin air. Rosentia, already harried by the presence of the scamps and unwilling to see anymore of her house damaged by Alves' vain attempts to destroy the scamps, explained they'd appeared due to her enunciation of some Daedric writing found on the side of a staff she'd purchased.

She then practically burst into tears. Clinging to Alves' she explained that they'd chewed through the legs on most of her chairs, relieved themselves all over her floor and, worst of all, were in the process of devouring a good chunk of her wardrobe.

Eventually Alves was able to extract herself from the distraught imperial, though only after enough stroking, petting and whispered reassurances to initiate the slow, emotional kind of lovemaking Alves was growing to enjoy. Shame then that the four staring Daedra had been there. Something of a mood killer, as it turns out.

So Alves left the Rosentia residence not only without getting laid, her original intention on stopping by, but with the added task of finding out exactly what manner of curse had inflicted her lover and how it could be broken.

* * *

Her early years in Morrowind left Alves more familiar with the Daedra than she'd like to admit, given current events. Thanks to that experience however she felt fairly certain that the staff would likely end up being related to one of the less harmfully malicious Lords, such as Sanguine or Sheogorath. That knowledge, as well as the vast collection of tomes on the subject kept by Dagail ensured that within about three weeks she was able to pinpoint both the nature of the curse and, more importantly, how to break it.

The Staff of the Everscamp was, unsurprisingly, was one of the many frustratingly ridiculously artifacts related to the Daedric Lord of Madness Sheogorath. In addition to summoning four unaggressive and undying scamps, the staff also appeared to inflict a slowing effect upon the wielder. Wonderful.

Alves eventually determined that there were two ways to relieve Rosentia of the curse. Have someone else willingly and deliberately accept the staff from her, in which case the curse would transfer over to the new recipient, or place the staff at a shrine to the Madgod himself.

Daedra worship, while frowned upon heavily in Cyrodiil, had found its way into the imperial province in large part due to immigration from Morrowind. Alves still had contacts among such individuals from her early days in Cheydinhal and, thanks to a certain court wizard from that very city, knew that the nearby Darkfathom Cave was the site of a long abandoned shrine to Sheogorath.

With this in mind Alves decided the best course of action would be to have some strong, gullible, well paid mercenary ferry the staff over to the likely empty cave and break the curse once and for all.

* * *

She never imagined she'd end up having to deal with the matter herself, but here she was, pulling out the old arms and amour she'd so long ago stashed within the bowels of the Leyawiin Mages Guild. The chitin plates felt as smooth as ever, light and sturdy and so unlike anything found in Cyrodiil. The Imperials preferred dry, dead armors. Chitin, even her old dusty set, always felt alive to the touch, as though the layers of insect shell and mushroom resin still held some small sliver of life.

Hiding her armor under a long red-velvet dress Alves left to convince Rosentia to go along with the revised plan.

Rosentia was quite dissatisfied with the revised plan. She, even more so than the superstitious sellswords, had been gripped by the recent scare in regards to Daedra. Alves supposed that, in her case, it was somewhat more understandable considering she'd been locked away in her house under an actual Daedric curse for the better part of the month.

Still, one would think she'd intended to do battle with Sheogorath himself the way the girl had carried on. She'd capitulated eventually though, surrendering the staff over to Alves. That the imperial hadn't tried to turn the situation into something from one of her books, the dashing Dunmer rogue making off the innocents girls treasure and, later on, her virtue scared Alves more so than any Daedric curse.

The realization that twice now the scamps had prevented her from getting laid made her all the more eager to put this nonsense to rest.

* * *

Alves assumed the actual walk to the swamp would be the most dangerous part of her endeavor. Blackwood was arguably the most inhospitable region of Cyrodiil, a deep and dark swamp stretching out from the border of Black Marsh. Dangerous fauna, combined with the frustrating Slow spell inflicted upon her by the staff, made for a potentially disastrous trek.

Potentially, but not certainly. She maintained a constant Chameleon spell as well as a fairly strong Detect Animal spell, insuring she could bypass the swamps less friendly denizens. The scamps were proving difficult however, requiring a constant spell of Invisibility to be maintained on each to avoid revealing her position, a state of affairs that served to rapidly consume her Magicka reserves.

Darkfathom cave was, thankfully, fairly close and once she reached the mouth of the cave she released all her spells with an audible sigh, visibly shaking from the strain of maintaining six separate enchantments at once.

Thankfully her Magicka pool, while not especially deep, refilled very rapidly and soon she was back to more or less working condition. She cast a mid-level light spell to illuminate her surroundings before striding into the mouth of the cave, expecting her task to be trivial from here on out.

* * *

Alves dove for cover behind a rock, sweat breaking out over her face as a wave of heat crashed against her cover, illuminating the cave with a hellish orange glow. Apparently, there were in fact Deadra inhabiting the abandoned cave.

Cursing her complacency Alves peeked over the side of the rock just in time to see a Flame Atronach incinerate another hapless Everscamp only for it reform a few seconds later. The scamps, ironically, had been her saving grace within the cave, providing a distraction for the hostile Daedra while Alves herself slipped past.

The Everscamps propensity for following her around however did, once or twice, lead to some uncomfortable situations. The Flame Atronach, for example, had been aiming the massive fireball at an Everscamp, not the invisible Dunmer mage behind it. Nonetheless, that fireball would have incinerated her had she not moved quickly enough.

Judging the size of the corridor exiting the Atronach chamber to be too narrow to prevent death via scamp directed fire Alves uncloaked and slowly crept up behind the infuriated Deadra, who was currently channeling a large stream of fire in an attempt to kill the immortal scamps.

Her flesh seared as she placed her palms against the fire Daedra's back. The pain ebbed away though as she channeled a powerful ice spell through her arms. Winters Grasp, arguably the most damaging spell in her repertoire, wracked the Atronach's body, causing it to shake and convulse as its flames flickered and died. Suddenly there was nothing left but a few scorched iron plates and a pile of fire salts.

A quick healing spell removed the burns on her palms and completely drained the rest of her Magicka reserves. She removed a nearly empty pink bottle and drained it, the potion in addition to her faster rate of recharge serving to replenish a fair chunk of her power instantly. It would still be a minute before she could cast any more offensive spells, but she'd at least be able to shield and cloak.

Cautiously she advanced deeper into the cave. Luckily, the next chamber was both the site of her objective and completely empty. Between two stone slabs inscribed with the Deadric rune for oblivion stood a comparatively modest statue of the Deadric lord of madness, presented here as a jaunty, well- dressed gentleman with a cane. Alves undid the straps keeping the accursed staff on her back and resisted the urge to just throw it in the idols face. Rather, she slowly placed it on a small altar in front of statue, and was immediately rewarding with the slow spell dissipating. The scamps too began to fade, becoming more and more transparent until suddenly they weren't there at all.

* * *

As she suspected, whatever magic kept so many Deadra bound to nirn broke along with the curse of the staff, leaving the cave completely empty on the return trip. Even the trip through the swamp was easier, her Detect Animal spell showing that there wasn't a single living thing anywhere in her vicinity. A little odd actually, she thought, but as relieved as she was she felt perfectly fine chalking it up to a lucky break.

The sun was setting, the air growing cold. Alves was betting, however, that a very grateful Rosentia would be more than happy to help warm her up.

As she walked out of the tree-line she was greeted by a city on fire.


	2. Flight

**Flight**

"How much farther do we have to go?" asked Fargoth, looking to his escort.

"This one thinks not far. If the group keeps its pace and steers clear of trouble it should reach Leyawiin tomorrow afternoon."

The Bosmer sitting on the other end of the modest campfire fire piqued up, adding her own word of caution. "That's only if the weather holds. Saw some pretty nasty clouds up ahead while I was scouting. One bad flood will set us back days."

Fargoth cleared his throat. " Ahem. Actually, though one wouldn't guess by looking at it, the Lower Niben Is famed for the predictability of any floods which, anyway, typically only occur on the opposite bank due to most of the terrain being below water level"

His fellow Bosmer cocked an eyebrow, looking at him with a mixture of humor and annoyance. " I didn't peg you for an expert on the local weather pattern. By the way that guts fighting your shirt I was expecting some pampered city elf. Clearly I was mistaken."

"Yes, that's what regular meals look like. I don't imagine you get many of those living out in the wild like a savage. And anyway, I got that little jewel of information from my guide here" Fargoth said, motioning to the massive Khajiit sitting next to him. " The advantages of hiring an experienced guide and escort, rather than wandering aimlessly into foreign and potentially dangerous territory."

The other elf, rolling her eyes before returning to the food his guide had provided, was a frustrating example of a stereotype Fargoth had spent most of his adult life distancing himself from. She was a savage; filthy and barefoot and dressed in animal skins, topped off with a shock of wild, unkempt hair. The quintessential Bosmer, as far as so many Imperials were concerned. But as displeased with her company as he was, his Khajiit guide had insisted on allowing her to travel with them. It was a custom, apparently, dating back to then the river was called Malapi and belonged to Elsweyr that travelers encountering each other on the road should group together. Safety in numbers, he said.

Fargoth was wary of the elf, but he trusted in the instincts of his guide. He was an extremely popular choice as a bodyguard for those unlucky few who find themselves in need of travelling on foot the dangerous road between Bravil and Leyawiin. Most of his popularity was predicated on his being a breed of Khajiit rarely seen outside of Elsweyr, a Cathay-raht, one of the famed "jaguar men", as tall as an Altmer and with muscles to make an Orc envious. The large cat, which went by the name S'ravva, was held on retainer by The Society of Concerned Merchants in the Imperial City, a member of which Fargoth was doing business for. Hence Fargoth was assured the services of this premier and exotic escort as he travelled to Leyawiin to conduct business on behalf of his brother. It was an added bonus that, as a former resident back before the Lower Niben had been ceded to Cyrodiil, S'ravva was intimately familiar with the local geography.

The Khajiit had more or less been ignoring the bickering of his travelling companions, tearing at his second leg of lamb with ferocious fangs that made the hair on the back of Fargoth's neck stand up. He had to admit, the fellow did put him a little on edge. It wasn't his size, Fargoth had long since become accustomed to being the smallest person in any given room; it was the eyes. Bright yellow eyes set just a bit too far apart. And the ears, small and pointed and always twitching at every little sound. Hands too, a bit too wide and with fingers a bit too long. And the fangs. Oh yes, nothing made Fargoth feel more like prey than watching those dagger-like teeth rip massive chunks of practically raw meat off the bones of his dinner.

Of course, he wasn't the prey. Prey was whatever poor fool attempted to molest him while he had the big guy under his employ, a fact he frequently reminded himself of. One of the many advantages of having more gold than anyone else in any given room, something his erstwhile kinswoman would doubtless never understand.

* * *

Allora awoke at sunrise. Without even opening her eyes she could tell something was wrong. The near ceaseless drone of living things in the woods around them had cut to an abrupt halt, right as a foul stench began wafting up from the breeze. Bolting upright Allora looked to the south to see that the sun wasn't rising at all. Rather, she'd been awoken by the harsh red glare of numerous crimson clouds cluttering the horizon.

Pulling free from her bedroll she made to wake her companions. The large cat-man stirred as soon as she did, ears flicking towards her with each footstep until he too noticed the ill omen in the sky to the south. She immediately walked up to her fat disgrace of a fellow mer and began gently kicking him, raising a string of curses until he too saw the sky.

"What in Oblivion is _that_!?" He said, pushing past Allora to get closer to his bodyguard.

"Khajiit thinks something bad."

Shaking his head, the fat mer turned his head back towards Allora, asking the same.

"No idea."

The Khajiit abruptly turned to his employer, wrapping one massive hand around his arm to get his full attention.

"S'ravva is bound, for the sake of his friends and contract, to see you safely to your destination. But perhaps that destination should be Bravil, rather than Leyawiin, yes? I see no flaming red skies over the road back to Bravil."

Allora expected the cowardly trader to take his guard up on the offer, but a strange look suddenly fell over his face. He looked like he was somewhere else for a second there, before snapping back to reality.

"No!, I mean, no, no that is not acceptable. I _have _reach Leyawiin, understand? It's not a matter of choice, I _have _to. You heard Thoronir. It's my last chance."

The Khajiit took a step back and crossed his arms, apparently mulling it over.

"Khajiit values his friendship with the society, and is fond of your brother in particular. Many people will be upset if you die. So you will be guarded if you go south, unless I deem it too obviously dangerous to continue."

"And if you do?"

Then for both your sake and the sake of his friend, Khajiit will carry you personally back to safety. Unconscious, if needs be."

"I suppose that'll have to do." Suddenly her whirled on Allora. "And what about you, you're a hunter right?"

She was not at all happy about the manic look he was getting in his eyes.

"I'll be making a hefty sum when my business in the city is concluded. A nice little percentage of it will be yours if you help see my safely through the wood."

In truth, Allora couldn't give two fucks about this fat old elf's gold. But she did need to go south. And while he may be worse than useless, his pet sellsword looked capable indeed. Perhaps even vital, if she'd guessed right about who and what he was. Lifting her bow and fishing her quiver out from her pack, she reluctantly agreed to her fellows Bosmer's offer. Quickly they packed in their gear, Allora and the Khajiit arming themselves with bow and hammer respectively while Fargoth made himself useful by carrying the food and bedrolls.

The three stalked cautiously down the green road.

* * *

Alves carried Rosentia right out the front gates of the city.

Apparently her reaction to a Daedric invasion of Leyawiin had been to get drunk and lock herself in a closet. Though to be fair her plan was certainly working better than whatever the people currently inhabiting the many corpse-piles lining the streets had tried. And it had kept her alive long enough for Alves to sneak her way into the city and find her.

Physically carrying Rosentia the Dunmer had maintained the highest level Chameleon spell she could manage, along with a moderate Fortify Speed, and began deftly picking her way through the battlefield that had once been the city of Leyawiin. She used alleyways whenever possible, ducking in and out of main roads as needed, carefully avoiding the advancing Daedra as they converged on the Castle.

There had been a few close calls; once she'd accidently stepped right into a fight between some Dremora and one of the few remaining pockets of resisting guardsmen. Most of the guard had fallen back to the castle though, probably in a vain attempt to create a perimeter and defend the Count and Countess, so most of her obstacles were simply bloodlust-driven Daedra roaming and killing. Their attention, for the most part, was reserved for more visible prey.

But as soon as she crossed the threshold of the city gate Alves knew she'd been spotted. The limitations of Chameleon became more pronounced the faster you moved, and she'd been in a mad dash for the gate as soon as it came into view, desperate to get Rosentia and herself out. The Dremora saw her.

Dropping her now useless Chameleon spells Alves funneled all her remaining Magicka into an all-purpose booster. Fortify Strength so that she keep holding up Rosentia, Fortify Speed to put some distance between herself and the Dremora, and Fortify Endurance, so she could maintain that distance long enough to recharge some Magicka.

Her only hope was to put enough space between herself and her pursuer to gather her strength. If she could just get enough of her reserves back up to cast Water Walking or Water Breathing then they could cross the Niben and, hopefully, escape.

Alves Uvenim fled up the green road.

* * *

S'ravva decided that it would be better to simply knock the elf out and drag him back to Bravil.

Fargoth, despite his faults, was by all reports a good elf. S'ravva had worked many years with his brother, and over time had pieced together a fairly coherent picture of the Anruin Clans black sheep relative. He must be getting sentimental in his old age, because despite himself he truly did want to see this wayward son redeem himself. In the eyes of his brother, at least.

But Thoronir would understand, and would rather lose his deal with the Leyawiin trader than lose his brother. Besides, the fact of it was that it was Thoronir's, not Fargoth's, gold he'd been paid with. His loyalty was owed to the interests of the younger brother, not the troubled Wood Elf beside him.

He turned to give Fargoth this ultimatum when Allora drew her bow and knocked an arrow. S'ravva stepped out in front of Fargoth, reaching back in one fluid motion to draw his silver Warhammer.

A Dunmer woman was running up the roads towards them, inhumanly fast and carrying what looked to be a woman in her arms. Pursuing the pair was a monster unlike anything S'ravva had ever seen. Its armor was black and twisted, covered with sharp spikes and carrying an unnatural red glow. Its face was like that of a burn victim, scarred and pitted and discolored. Two vicious looking horns jutted out from its forehead.

Out the corner eye he saw Allora take Fargoth with her off the side of the road and into the underbrush. A smart girl.

S'ravva let go his battle-roar, freezing both Dunmer and Monster in their tracks. He charged.

* * *

Alves Uvenim saw the group of mer and beast ahead and took hope. Perhaps the Dremora would stop to slaughter them, giving her some breathing room. The Daedra was faster than anticipated, and even with her fortifying magic she found herself tiring.

Redoubling her efforts she ran as hard as she could towards the bewildered company, two of whom had enough sense to slip off into the woods. The Cat however was apparently too stunned by the sight to move, and remained her last hope of shaking the Daedra. Then it roared.

Alves could feel her bones shake. The Beasts mouth opened wider than seemed possible, displaying fangs like daggers that sent a primitive part of her brain into a panic. She noticed now that the creature was impossibly big, too big to be a Khajiit, and the hair around its head standing up as it bellowed only served to enhance the effect. Fear gripped her, fear unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

It was as though someone else had taken over her body. Though she knew it would be certain death she broke her stride and threw herself into the woods, consumed by her need to escape the monster ahead of her. She tripped on a root and fell, rolling before her back slammed into a tree. Rosentia had fallen from her grasp.

That should have been the end of them both, but apparently even the Dremora had been thrown off balance by the monstrous Khajiit's roar. The cat charged, ramming into the stunned Dremora and knocking it several feet through the air and onto its back.

The Khajiit lifted his massive Warhammer and brought down its spiked end onto the Dremora cuirass. It bounced off harmlessly, throwing the Khajiit off balance. The Dremora took the opportunity to roll away and regain its footing.

An arrow flew out from the forest behind her, aimed right at the Daedra's uncovered head. It brought it shield up in time, though before it could try to locate the source the Khajiit was on it again, aiming a heavy swing at its head. It ducked and countered, a horizontal swipe barely dodged as the Khajiit jumped back. The big cat brought its hammer up just in time to parry another swing one handed, using his free hand to grasp the Dremora's sword arm before pivoting to the side and kicking its legs out from under it.

With his opponent on its back again the Khajiit dropped his Warhammer and pounced onto the fallen Deadra. Sharp black claws erupted from its finger tips as it gave another roar. The Dremora made to bring its hands up too late, the Khajiit thrusting its whole hand through the Daedra neck.

The Dremora, even mortally wounded, slammed its spiked gauntlets into the cat's sides and arms, leaving several bloody wounds. The Khajiit seemed to barely notice, and responded by planting his knee on the Dremora chest and its other hand on the side of its face before ripping its head off.

The Khajiit had no time to catch its breath however, as heavy footfalls could be heard from within the trees behind Alves. She was about to grab Rosentias prone form and move when, several feet to their right, one of the Bosmer, the female, burst out of the foliage before turning and losing an arrow back into the tree line.

A Daedroth erupted from the dense underbrush, several arrows sticking harmlessly from its leathery hide. With a hiss it snapped at the Bosmer girl with massive jaws. She deftly rolled away before loosing two more arrows in quick succession.

Three metal daggers arced through the air and struck the Daedroth in the back. As it turned the Khajiit threw a fourth, this one swatted away by the Daedra as it focused its attention on the larger prey. The Khajiit charged as the Daedroth opened its mouth and launched an orb of fire.

The Khajiit jumped over both the orb and the Daedroth, turning in midair to latch on the Daedroth back with its claws. The Daedra hissed as the Khajiit bit into its neck with sharp fangs. It was evidently not enough, as the Daedroth reached behind itself and hooked the cat with its own claws before flinging him off to the side. He struck a tree, hard, and laid there immobile.

As the Daedroth stalked towards the downed Khajiit its back was turned to Alves. The Bosmer was nowhere to be seen. After it finished with the Khajiit the Daedroth would surely turn its attention to Rosentia and herself next. She raised her hand and unleashed lightening.

It was not a powerful spell, though the metal daggers sticking from the Daedroth back seemed to help, the skin around them blackening and smoking as the daggers themselves arced with electricity. Furious the Deadra whirled to face her as to solid black arrows flew from the trees behind it and pierced through both knees, staggering it. Alves fired off a second lightning bolt, this time aiming for the eyes. The creature reeled, clutching at its face. The Khajiit rose up from nowhere, wrapped both arms around the beast's neck and pulled.

The Daedroths neck broke with an audible crack, its huge body falling limply to the ground. The Bosmer rushed forward out of the trees and knelt to collect her arrows. The Khajiit's gaze settled on Alves.


End file.
